Haven
by Lorena Delphine
Summary: "We have a lot of catching up to do," he said against my hair. "I'll tell you any story you want to hear," I replied. "But I gotta tell you, the best one is always going to be the part when I make it back to you."


**Another O/S. This story is an exception to my E/B rule. I enjoyed writing it, though. It's nice to climb out of the box sometimes. -LD**

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The morning light spilled into my window at seven-thirty, like it did every day – but this morning I was waiting for it. I hadn't slept all night, the weight of anticipation pressing on my chest. I had nearly chewed the acrylic off of my fingernails as I waited for the dim burnt orange light to seep through the cracks and settle along the carpet I'd vacuumed meticulously the morning before. All night I'd thought and waited and planned. I'd wondered and worried if I was strong enough to go through with what I had planned when he left for work in the morning.

My emotions were all over the place. For three years, I had been with Edward, we'd shared so much – and in so many ways he had been perfect for me. He was good and kind and in my way I loved him. I loved him so much, but it had never been right between us. Even so, I was too much of a coward to tell him in person. I knew that I would see the hurt on his beautiful, sweet face and that he would convince me to stay. Again.

But I couldn't stay this time. This time, I was determined, and I had made promises to more than myself that this would be the day that I would finally say goodbye.

I tucked my dark brown hair behind my ear as I rose from the bed and dressed like I had done every day of my life with Edward. I picked the blue button down when he asked me to choose, and after I was dressed, I had a cup of coffee waiting for him, just like he liked it, on the counter. I closed my eyes and savored his kiss as he bid me farewell. I was sincere when I said that I hoped he had a good day.

I watched from the downstairs window as he pulled out of the driveway. I'd bought the olive, beaded curtains to match our mahogany furniture, and they had always been a favorite. When he was out of sight, my fingers released the bunched fabric and I allowed the curtain to close again, giving the living room a few precious minutes more of darkness.

As I climbed the stairs to grab the packed bag I had stashed in the closet, I thought of the day we moved in that house. How Edward's father had helped him carry our bed up the stairs; how we had hosted Christmas there just a month later. I thought of how it felt to press my body against the strength of Edward's back as we lay in bed and talked each night. How warm his skin felt against my chest; how he said that I was the most important thing that had happened to him.

But I knew I wasn't. I would never be her. Edward would never be…well, nevermind.

An hour out of town, I stopped at the first hair salon I came to. "Bleach it," I said, unclipping my hair and watching it fall down my shoulders. "I want to be as blonde as I can be without it breaking off."

"What have you done to it so far?" my stylist asked.

"Just some over the counter brown," I sighed. "A lot of it."

It took several hours and a burning scalp, but I was a blonde before noon. I tipped her well, and got back in my car. A glance at myself in the rearview mirror stopped me. It had been so long since I had seen the woman looking back at me. Tears welled in my eyes, but I held them back. I had cried enough last night; now was the time to be strong.

I made my flight to Tennessee at two o'clock. I didn't let myself think about Edward as we lifted off. I knew he would find my car. It was all in the letter I had left on the kitchen table. I'd explained everything, I'd accepted responsibility for what was broken. I'd said sorry – many times. I was sincere about that.

My six hour flight was sobering. Plane rides are merciful, though, in that there is no looking back. Always out, over, and ahead. Before we landed, I grabbed my bag and changed in the tiny bathroom. I threw the rest away - the too soft blue turtleneck Edward had given me for my birthday, my favorite blue jeans, and my heavy brown boots. I took out the earrings he had given me for our anniversary and the pearl drop necklace he'd given me just because. The diamond ring he'd given me just last month was back home on the table with my letter.

I slipped on a thin black tunic sweater that went off one shoulder and pulled on some gray jean leggings. It was the least amount of clothing I'd worn in a long time since I'd chosen to live in Washington. A quick glance in the mirror proved an even more poignant transformation than my rear view mirror. I couldn't remember the last time something I'd worn had accentuated my ample breasts and curved backside.

I bought some makeup at the airport – black eyeliner, red lipstick. I told the taxi driver my destination and began applying it to my face as best I could in the moving vehicle. I laid the makeup on generously, like I used to do. I thought when I was done that my eyes had never looked so blue. I pressed my lips together, enjoying the weight of the glamour against my skin.

I rode for a while, pensive and quiet, relishing this new old feeling. Breathing differently, already holding myself differently. When the terrain became familiar, my nerves returned stronger than ever. My presence was expected, but I was still so afraid of how I would be received. Edward wasn't the first bridge I'd attempted to burn down. I'd turned away from everything, everyone to be with him.

I'd once thought for sure he was going to be the one – the one that made all the rest fade to nothing more than gauzy, tissue paper memories. Of course, I'd been wrong. I'd already met that one.

Lovers hold on to anything that will remind them. Smells, songs, memories, trinkets. I'd clung to all of that, even when I was endeavoring to save what I'd had with Edward. Even at our happiest, Peter Gabriel singing "In Your Eyes" could shatter me.

"Here is good," I said when a familiar house came into view. I didn't know what to expect as I climbed the black, wrought iron stairs and stood on the porch for the first time in years. Then the door opened and there he was. He was everything I remembered and completely different. I took in his hands, his arms, his chest –oversized by anyone's estimation. His full, motionless lips and dark hair. When my eyes met his, however, I stood arrested. Everything was there – the love, the hurt, the tenderness, the hardness pain of separation had caused. A sob escaped me unprovoked. I loved him. I loved him.

"You came."

I nodded, unable to speak. He opened the screen door for me, and stepped back.

"I never thought I'd see you – this you – ever again."

"I wanted to be me again," I said, finding my voice. "I wanted you to see me, how I was when you loved me."

"I'll always love you, Rosie," he said gently. "But so did he."

"He called me Bella. In his sleep, on accident, all the time."

"Is that why you're here?" he smiled. "You never did like a girl that could steal your show."

I might have said something snarky, had I taken the time to take offense. But I was too desperate, and I didn't feel like laughing or fighting. "I'm here because I wanted you, because it's always been you even when it was him. He wants Bella and I want you," I said, feeling more vulnerable than I'd ever allowed myself to be.

He turned and sat down on the couch and I followed him, unabashedly settling myself in the floor in front of him. I wasn't saying it, but I was begging. I had come here without more than just his permission. I had left Edward and our tidy life together. The life where he longed for another girl who was too good, and too plain for him to know how to appreciate a woman like me. He didn't understand my ferocity, my pluck, or my deep deep heart. Emmett, the man whose warm legs were burning the skin through my sweater, had seen me. We'd fought, sometimes so much I thought we would actually kill one another – but we were passionate. About our feelings. About each other.

Edward had been passionate, too. But he was a quiet, private man and I had never managed to understand him. We'd never had a single fight, Edward and I. But we'd never clung to one another in desperation either. I'd tried so hard to be what he wanted. He'd preferred brunettes, and I'd become that for him. He wanted my love to be quiet, and so I'd silenced myself. I'd worn the clothes he liked on me, and kept my beauty natural for him. I'd accidentally stumbled upon a picture of his ex once and had almost become ill with defeat. It was her he wanted; it was her he wanted me to be.

I realized as I clung to Emmett's bent knees, that I hadn't truly felt warm until I was close to him again. I craved closeness to him with such intensity that I feared I would have to crawl inside his skin to be satisfied. It had taken the coldness of Washington to help me discover where I was needed. Where I belonged and who set me on fire. I wanted to sleep at the feet of this man. Like Ruth, my head and my heart had chosen him to be my safe haven and I needed him only to answer in kind. I laid my head in his lap and closed my eyes. After a while his fingers threaded through my hair.

"Don't send me away," I said pitifully. I felt so unlike the me he once knew.

"You hurt me so much when you left," he said simply.

"I know," I croaked. "I hurt me, too."

"When I pulled you up on Facebook, I didn't even recognize you."

"What about now?" I asked, looking up into his eyes.

"I see my baby," he said, his lip trembling with emotion. I used to make fun of him for crying before, but after years craving that kind of emotion from Edward, I saw it for what it really was. I loved that he loved me enough to let himself feel it.

"I want to be your baby again."

The kiss we shared when he pulled me up to his lap and into his arms held so many feelings. Most notably, was the intense emotional relief. It was as if every pain and every longing rushed out of me at once. In his arms I was just me – and he was okay with every single aspect of it. I had spent years trying to be something else and I was so so tired. I wanted to be his Rosalie – my Rosalie. I wanted to be me. Most importantly, I wanted that to be okay. And with him, it always was and forever would be.

"Don't you ever leave me again," he said seriously, and I felt the warning in those words. There would be no third chances. That was fine with me.

"Never," I said clinging to him.

Lovers hold on to everything, anything when they've lost one another. I'd run away today, and ran as fast as I could, to the arms of the man who'd had my heart. He'd been holding on to it all these years, waiting for me to come back to him, without knowing if I ever would.

I would never leave him again. I was finally home.

"We have a lot of catching up to do," he said against my hair.

"I'll tell you any story you want to hear," I replied. "But I gotta tell you, the best one is always going to be the part when I make it back to you."

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**Say hi to me! I'm a bit lonely and shy, so it'd be nice to make friends. You can find me on twitter under Lorena Delphine, too.**


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